.

Yo, he actin' like he's rich, callin' himself a star,
Thinkin' he's attractive, but nah, that’s too far.
Cringin’ hard, tryna flex in front of the crowd,
With that Goyard bucket bag, bro, lookin' proud.
But real talk? You look like moms fresh from the store,
Grocery bags in hand, nothin' worth to adore.
Stop actin' like you’re 'bout that life, fakin' accents,
Bruh, you Indonesian, stop chasin' that pretense.
Auto-tune so thick, soundin' like a cartoon,
Nobody playin’ your tracks, man, your career's doomed.
You front like a rapper, but ain't nobody knows your name,
What's the name of your track? Streams lookin' lame.
People ain’t your friends, they just here for mama’s cash,
You a joke to them, man, just a flash that won’t last.
Even beggin' your mama for a Burger King? What a joke,
Seven K gold, man, your whole life’s broke.
No wonder nobody’s rockin' with this poor event,
And after this, welcome to your canon event.
Take some advice, play it back, feel the heat,
Now get out my face, and try to land on your feet.